


The Hogwarts Champions

by kris967d



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, But the Dark Lord is Grindelwald, Explicit Sexual Content, Goblet of Fire AU, Harry Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry and Tom are peers, Head Boy Tom Riddle, I Don't Know Where This Is Going, I fuck with the timeline, I'm just playing around with an idea, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, tomarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kris967d/pseuds/kris967d
Summary: Since learning of his magical abilities, Tom Riddle had always strived diligently to be the best. The best Slytherin, the best of all his subjects, and, eventually, the best and most powerful wizard, period. Because of this, he of course expected his name to come out of the Goblet of Fire and to be declared the Hogwarts Champion of the Triwizard Tournament.What he didn’t expect, nor appreciated in the least, was that Harry Potter was also declared a Hogwarts champion.A Goblet of Fire AU with Tom more or less assuming Cedric's role.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 97





	The Hogwarts Champions

**Author's Note:**

> Hi and welcome!
> 
> This is really just an idea of mine that I'm playing around with. I really like Tomarry fics, and I really wanted to explore what might happen if these two were students at the same time; if a young Tom Riddle, in all his arrogance and cunning, was forced to interact with Harry Potter as we know him. Harry's still the Boy-Who-Lived here, but just the victim of Grindelwald instead. So I've just messed around with the timeline here, really. 
> 
> I don't know where this is going, and I'm currently studying my Master's degree, so I'm definitely not gonna be updating this regularly or anything; I'll write when inspired and when I have time. So sorry for that - I know how frustrating that is as a reader, but... life. :)
> 
> I enjoy constructive criticism and it's more than welcome in the comments. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
> \- Kris

### Chapter 1: The Fourth Champion

“The Hogwarts champion,” declared Dumbledore, his voice reverberating around the Great Hall, quietening the hush of its crowd even further, “is Tom Riddle!”

Said Tom Riddle had, of course, already prepared for this nomination, and plastered a joyously surprised expression on his handsome face as he rose from his seat amongst the roar within the Hall. He noted with satisfaction how the response from the Hogwarts student body was largely victorious (though hardly surprised). Exempt from this reaction were some of the Hufflepuffs, who expressed some disappointment that their contender and the only conceivable rival of Tom’s, Cedric Diggory, had not been chosen; and a few Gryffindors, who were less than enthused about the Hogwarts champion being a Slytherin. He scoffed internally at such obvious displays of emotions and endured the congratulatory shoulder slaps and salutations from his House mates, as he made his way to the side chamber that housed the Triwizard Tournament champions.

The faces of the portraits that hung in the side chamber obviously approved of him as he entered the room, and he gave them a conspiratorial nod back before turning his attention to the other two champions poised expectantly in front of the fireplace. Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour both assessed him stoically and with curious eyes, which he met calmly, almost lazily, before inclining his head to them in greeting.

He _was_ curious about them in return though; who were these two foreign peers that had been chosen by the same criteria as _he_ had? What were they made of; mentally and magically? It certainly wouldn’t do to underestimate his _possible_ opponents before having discerned these qualities, although he hid his interest behind his usual façade of confidence and affability. It was a façade that had never failed him (well, perhaps except with Dumbledore), and it didn’t fail him now either.

Delacour’s face seemed to lighten as she came to some sort of conclusion about him, and she smiled back to him with a neutral, albeit challenging, smile on her undoubtedly beautiful face. Krum, on the other hand, remained stoic, though he returned his nod in a brisk manner as he leaned his burly frame against the mantlepiece.

“Zat was quite ze applause you received from your peers, although I’m afraid we did not catch your name, monsieur…?” trailed Delacour imploringly in a strong, French accent.

“Riddle, miss Delacour; Tom Riddle,” said Tom as he lifted his lips into a smile and clasped his hands behind his back. “And as I am the Head Boy and the prefect of Slytherin, the students invariably know me, and the applause is perhaps thusly justified,” he continued with a teasing glint in his eyes, “though the two of you, too, seemed to be approved of by your own school mates.”

Delacour seemed quietly pleased by his evaluation, whilst Krum remained unimpressed as he raised his thick brows at him.

 _So flattery and platitudes are efficient on one and not the other_ , concluded Tom amusedly. This did make sense, however, as Krum must have been well-used to it by now.

Tom did not manage to engage further with the other two champions before they all noticed the sudden sound of slow and approaching steps behind him; loud only because of a deathly silence that Tom did not notice until now. He turned around to observe the newcomer, schooling his features in a tightly controlled blank expression when he identified the person who entered the small room.

Harry Potter looked pale in the flickering lights cast by the flames behind Tom, his eyes dancing between the three of them; unseeing and obviously uncomfortable if the lip-biting and anxiously furrowed brows were any indication.

“Potter?” voiced Tom flatly, his grip on his own hands tightening, not liking the quiet conclusions his mind was coming to despite himself. _It cannot be true_ , he told himself firmly. _There must be a logical explanation for his presence here_.

Potter’s striking eyes flitted to his immediately behind those ridiculous glasses, and the grim resignation he saw in the emerald orbs contradicted his thoughts and made Tom’s lips tighten, a snarl wanting to escape him. _What the_ fuck.

Potter seemed small in front of the three, older champions; even their shadows towered ominously around his slight one. And Tom had never been more aware of his disdain for this young, unimpressive boy who was always victimised by fate and circumstance; this young boy who was never in control of _anything_. Not his destiny, which seemed to be mastered by everyone else around him; not his magic, which always leaked into any space he occupied and betrayed his every emotion; and certainly not his thoughts, which were always written directly and _clumsily_ across his face and in his body language. And yet despite all this, the boy was always granted esteem and acclamation – achievements that Tom had worked diligently for by applying masterful control over every aspect of himself – and was glorified by the sacrifice of his parents and alleged feats of magic that Tom highly doubted the validity of.

The only satisfaction Tom had ever experienced when thinking of the so-called Boy-Who-Lived, was that Potter expressed just as much dismay for his role in Wizarding history and the attention he garnered from that as Tom himself felt. He had never interacted much with Potter, and he had always felt quiet vindication and amusement over Professor Snape’s derogatory treatment of the boy. But _now_ , as Delacour confusedly enquired as to his presence, Tom felt nothing but absolute loathing for the child in front of him. He just _knew_ from that downtrodden expression that the idiot had somehow been entered into the tournament; an accomplishment that _should_ have been reserved for the best and brightest of candidates.

Tom might have let his thoughts appear a bit too unfiltered, and he might have lost control over his magic for just a second, because Potter’s eyes widened slightly in alarm at him before he managed to reign everything back under a blank face.

Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, flew in behind Potter and enthusiastically grasped the boy around his lean shoulders. “Extraordinary, Mr. Potter, absolutely extraordinary!” the greying wizard exclaimed with wonder, and Tom wanted to let his magic lash out once more at the pathetic man.

Bagman turned his body towards Tom and the other two. “Gentlemen – and lady… I introduce to you, incredibly enough, the _fourth_ Triwizard champion!”

Tom managed to keep control of himself this time, but he felt the tension in the room rise. He turned quickly to observe Krum’s face darken as he straightened from his position by the fire and Delacour’s incredulous and disbelieving laugh at the ministry worker’s exclamation. Bagman assured Delacour of his earlier words, and the girl started protesting Potter’s age and the unfairness of Hogwarts having _two_ champions in competing, while Tom captured Potter’s eyes once more and held them.

With Bagman distracted with the other two champions behind him, and with his low opinion of the Boy-Who-Lived, Tom deemed it safe to convey just how undeserving he thought the boy was of compete alongside himself. And so he narrowed his cold, grey eyes minutely and lifted his upper lip just enough to clue the boy in.

The message was obviously received, as Potter blinked back in surprise at him. Infuriatingly, the boy then cleared his face and raised his face in obvious defiance at him, raised his brows in a challenge, and hardened his eyes to stone that mimicked the colour of a powerful killing curse. Tom only had a moment of surprise at the effectiveness of that expression before Dumbledore, Crouch, McGonagall, Snape, the Durmstrang Headmaster and the Beauxbatons Headmistress tore into the room.

“Madame Maxime!” exclaimed Delacour in indignation. “Is it really true? Zat zis little boy is also a champion?”

Tom was delighted by the wording and saw Potter’s cheeks turn slightly red in annoyance.

“What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” asked Maxime in disdain, drawing herself to an impressive height. Now, Tom barely managed _not_ to cackle at her butchering of Dumbledore’s name. It seemed that the French visitors would be providing much entertainment throughout the year.

“I’d rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore,” grumbled Karkaroff snidely. “ _Two_ Hogwarts champions? I don’t remember that was allowed, and it hardly seems fair. In fact, I was also under the impression that your Age Line would make sure the younger students would not be able to enter,” he continued with a steely smile. “If this was _not_ the case, we might have brought a wider selection of candidates as well.”

“Now now, Karkaroff, don’t blame Dumbledore for Potter’s acts of defiance,” intoned Professor Snape slowly with a malignant smile on his face. And this, _this_ , was one of the reasons why Tom appreciated his Head of House so much; not just his sharp brilliance, but his obvious refusal to let the little Saviour be exempt from the rules and consequence as the other Professors were wont to do. “He has been crossing lines and breaking rules ever since he arrived here -”

“Yes, thank you, Severus,” interrupted Dumbledore firmly, his eyes locked with Potter’s – thankfully without a glint or glimmer. “Did you put your name into the Goblet, Harry?” asked the Headmaster calmly and seriously.

“No,” replied Potter just as seriously, earning him a derisive snort from Professor Snape, which in return earned _him_ a glare from Professor McGonagall.

“Did you ask one of the older students to put your name into the Goblet for you?” asked Dumbledore.

“ _No_ ,” replied Potter insistently.

Tom was already bored with this whole ordeal. Of course Potter hadn’t entered himself into the tournament; anyone who had ever encountered the brat would know that. The boy obviously hated his fame and attention – if Professor Snape provoked Potter with this, it was only because the man knew a weak spot when he saw one.

The Professors argued amongst themselves further whilst the four – _four_ – champions looked on, before Crouch definitively stated: “No, the rules state absolutely that those people, whose names are ejected from the Goblet of Fire, are magically bound to compete in the Tournament. We _must_ follow the rules. Mr. Potter has no choice,” he said, looking dramatically at Potter. “He is, as of tonight, a Triwizard Champion.”

Everyone collectively turned to look at Potter, who looked blankly at each of them in return. He had obviously resigned himself to this fact as well, judging by the defeated set of his mouth.

Tom, for the first time since Harry Potter had entered the room, felt vindication. _Yes, Potter, you have no choice_. Perhaps this _wouldn’t_ be the worst thing ever. Tom had long ago deemed Potter to be of little magical threat and of humble intelligence, so perhaps the humiliation of defeat the boy would undoubtedly experience in this tournament would soothe the fact that he was even a contestant.

Tom smiled predatorily at the younger student, whose eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.

Tom had also remembered that many contestants of the Triwizard Tournament over the centuries had died or been seriously maimed during the dangerous tasks. Perhaps the Wizarding world would finally be rid of Harry Potter.


End file.
